All your perfect imperfections
by Anloquen
Summary: This is my attempt at the FixFic we all need so much: post-Season 11, after Castiel expelled Lucifer Dean and Castiel try to make amends. I wouldn't be me if I didn't add a little twist. It may not be what you expect, but I hope you will enjoy this little, not-too-fluffy, but certainly heartwarming one-shot. Destiel of course.
It is cold; almost cold enough to make Dean shiver, but not quite yet. Fine droplets of dew are making the black, smooth surface of Impala's hood seem matt and almost gray in lurid moonlight. There is no sound but his own nervous breathing mixed with a soft rustle of tall cottonwoods swayed by early autumn wind. The man realizes that this hint of warmth emanating from Castiel, who is sitting on the car by his side, is what keeps him from trembling. He hates it, but he doesn't move away.

Cas is perfectly still; he waits, infinitely patient, but not tranquil. He knows that sometimes it takes ages for Dean to choke out what he has to say and Dean knows that he knows. It makes things easier, if only a little bit.

"So... You're back, huh?"

Winchester can hear the angel inhale and open his mouth to throw an acrid remark at him, because of course Cas is back, Dean has known it for days... He resigns; he calms down a bit to reply softly, reassuringly:

"Yes, Dean. I am back."

It takes almost all Dean's strength to force another question through his dry, tight throat. He lets it cut through the silence in haste, racing with his own cowardice, knowing that once he asks before the fear takes over, the rest of the conversation will be out of his control. Castiel will wring it out from him somehow. It's easier this way.

"Listen... Could we talk?"

"Of course. What do you want to talk about?"

Just one more step. The man feels as if his own body decided for him, repeated a well-known pattern of motions before his mind could protest.

"Us," he says, and there is no coming back.

Castiel freezes for a moment; Dean can feel the angel's whole body tense up, but he is seemingly composed when he replies:

"There is no us. You said it yourself."

A chasm opens up beneath Dean's feet; a hard, freezing fist clenches on his guts.

"But..." he tries, and as usually in such moments, grammar fails him, "could...it? Could... There?"

Suddenly, the angel turns to face him and his piercing gaze is more than Dean can take. Breath is caught in his chest.

"Dean, please. Try to understand. I would do almost anything for you, but not this. You are asking for too much. I am not unbreakable. After everything that has come to pass, all I want is peace. I need to rest."

"You mean I broke you?"

"It was not your fault..." Castiel opposes hastily, but there is a false undertone in his voice, "You said that apologizing is not enough if I keep making mistakes. I understand. You were right."

"Yeah. I wasn't wrong. I was just an asshole..." Dean tries to joke, but it doesn't make the weight on his chest any lighter. His throat burns; every muscle of his body is tense.

"So what do you want from me now? Do you want me to apologize? I could. But would it really change anything? I knew that you wouldn't approve of my saying yes to Lucifer, but I had to. There was..."

"A bigger picture..." Winchester whispers ruefully.

"Bigger picture," Castiel echoes in a dead, dispassionate voice.

Dean stirs nervously, then sinks into himself, slouches, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the base of his nose with his thumbs. After a long, charged silence he opens up again, looking straight ahead somewhere above the dark gray horizon. His voice is brittle and throaty.

"No, man. This time it's me. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that..." he shakes his head and lets out a bitter, strangled snicker before looking at his hands that tremble slightly; he tries to stretch his fingers and the trembling gets worse, "I just thought that you were perfect. That's why I didn't give you another chance."

Dean doesn't turn to look at Cas, but he can almost physically sense the confused look, that head tilt and Cas's brows knotting. He sucks in a loud, ragged breath to try again:

"I thought you were perfect. You're a god damn angel, right? Badass motherfucker, pulling my sorry ass out of hell and out of trouble. You blew me away on the spot. Then, when I saw that you crap out, I just couldn't believe it. Something was wrong and I wanted you to be that... You know. Superman," he winces wryly, "A dude who has everything figured. I couldn't wrap my head around how you could be helpless or tired or simply wrong. Or that you can have two curtains to chose from and there is zonk behind each..." Dean swallows against the anger and confusion welling up in his chest whenever he remembers Castiel's deal with Crowley or his war against Raphael, "It wasn't you. Until I realized that it _was_ the real you. The one I... Dammit..." his voice melts into a strangled sob.

"Why are you reminding me about it now?" there is an accusation in Cas's tone; it's not that well hidden at all.

"Because I am an asshole, all right?" Dean snaps, struggling with despair that's making his voice low ant guttural, "You know what? Forget it. You're right. It's over. Let's go," he jumps to his feet, slumps down on the driver's seat before closing the door with a loud thump. He doesn't even have time to take a few calming breaths or come down a bit when Castiel takes the seat next to him.

"What do you want from me?" It's almost a yell.

"I want you, okay?" Dean snaps and slams his hands on the steering wheel, "I want you back," he breathes weakły, a terrible realization is creeping up his spine. He's said it. It's done.

Castiel just sits there in perfect silence, barely even breathing. Passing moments stretch out impossibly; fear transforms into anger and when Cas finally opens his mouth to answer, Dean is ready to tear him apart.

"Dean..."

"Cas, no. Okay, I get it. You don't trust me. I'd break you again. This just can't work. We tried twice and it didn't work. I'll just let you..."

"Dean!" the angel's raucous shout cuts him short, "You're not even trying!"

Their looks lock and for a moment Dean feels this well-known ice-cold vortex pierce his chest. The same awe he felt when he first met Castiel.

"Besides," Cas adds softer, "I cannot promise that I will not let you down either. Who knows what will happen. Who knows what choices we'll... I'll have to make."

"Can't you see? That's the point - that we make these decisions," Winchester blurts out, relieved that words suddenly flow so easily, "Together. No matter what crap comes around, we deal with it. Of course there'll be some broken bones and flesh wounds in the process. That's our fucked up life anyway. Let's... Let's really make it ours."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes. Fucking yes," he exclaims; the pain that has been gnawing at his throat finally starts to let go.

"What would you have me do?"

"Just... be. Live with us. Hunt with us. I said you were like family to me, but hell, I didn't really know what it meant. Now I now. Let's be family. For real. No matter what you do. No matter what I do. Sure as hell it will hurt like a motherfucker from time to time, but I don't give a shit. It..." this desperate boldness fails him; anxiety stalks him to claim him back, but he manages to finish before casting a timid, but hopeful look at Cas, "It can't be worse than losing you."

"We will try," the answer is curt, decided, but not harsh. Dean doesn't realize how much he's missed this velvety, lively undertone until he spots it in Cas's voice again.

"So what, we kosher?" he asks nervously.

The Seraph turns to face him with a sigh. His face is not darkened by grudge anymore, but the sorrow he's been living with for so long is not gone.

"Dean, I won't lie to you," he reaches out as if to caress Dean, but he withdraws his hand before it can touch Dean's lips, "It's all I can give you now. I'm sorry if it's not enough."

"It has to be," the man bows to press his forehead to Cas's temple. He feels the angel's soft, warm sigh when they finally touch.

He lacks the courage to reach out for Cas's lips yet, but when he leans in to trace a line of quick, chaste kisses on Cas' cheek and jaw, the angel doesn't protest. Dean digs his face in the hollow of Cas's neck, filling his lung with Castiel's scent, remembering his taste and warmth, and the roughness of his stubble that always chafed his lips. He can't but whimper when he feels the angel's hand on the back of his head, Cas's finger lacing through his hair. It's ungentle and clumsy, almost as if the angel had forgotten how to do it. Perhaps it's not the only thing he's forgotten during years of loneliness, but there's nothing so broken that it can't be mended. Now that Dean's been given a chance, he will make the best of it. There is still hope.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed it. The story here is consistent with my headcanon in which Dean's and Cas's romance started as early as in Season 5, went through a difficult phase in season 6, then flourished in the Purgatory and ended in episode 22 of Season 8. If you want to learn more about this theory, you'll find it explained in my "Destiel is canon".**

 **Please let me know if you liked this little fic :)**


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